


Darkest hour

by Builder



Series: Powers/No Powers Choose-Your-Own-Adventure [31]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Amputee Bucky Barnes, Anal Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Steve Rogers, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Sickfic, Vomiting, War Veteran Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:08:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23795914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Builder/pseuds/Builder
Summary: “I-I’m—“  Bucky’s Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he grapples with his words.  “I’m sorry.  I’m s-so—“ he swallows.  “I’m sorry—““I’ll take him,” Sam says quietly, moving his arms to perhaps an inch above Bucky’s shoulders and beckoning him to follow. Then he looks at Steve.  “Why don’t you go downstairs?  Clean up?  Maybe, I don’t know, brew some coffee?  I don’t think any of us are sleeping tonight.”_________________________Sometimes it's not the nightmares that get to him.  Sometimes it's Steve.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Powers/No Powers Choose-Your-Own-Adventure [31]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/760377
Comments: 10
Kudos: 93





	Darkest hour

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr @builder051. This is a commission for an anonymous client.

“You sure you’re ready?” Steve asks, though he isn’t quite sure why. Bucky’s actions make the answer clear enough. 

“Yeah,” Bucky purrs, his nose practically in Steve’s ear. “I know it’s been a long time, but… Yeah.”

“Ok.” Steve pulls his arm out from under the covers and reaches for the drawer in the bedside table. He rummages for a moment, then comes out with a condom and lube. “You can tell me to stop. Anytime. I’ll be ok, I promise.” “I won’t make you stop.” Bucky leans in for a sensuous kiss, then takes the condom from Steve’s hand, tears the wrapper between his fingers, and reaches for Steve’s erection. He jerks a couple of times before rolling onto his back and spreading his legs slightly. 

Steve grins, then slips atop him so they’re chest to chest. He wraps his arms around Bucky’s shoulders, both cradling him and holding his own weight, then whispers again, “Ready?”

“Yes,” Bucky says impatiently, his own smaller hardness brushing against Steve’s thigh. 

“Ok, then.” Steve takes a breath, and slowly begins to push inside. “You alright?” he can’t stop himself from asking.

Bucky just lifts his head and cups Steve’s jaw, then breathes him in as he kisses him full on the mouth. That’s all the answer Steve needs.

He holds onto the contact as long as he can, then Steve cascades kisses across his jaw and down his neck. He ducks his head, Bucky entwining his fingers in his hair, and moves down to his upper chest. 

Bucky twitches when Steve nips him on the collarbone, then goes still. Not that Steve meant it to be a bite in the first place. Just an open mouthed kiss paired with an inhaled breath, perhaps a bit too much suction, a bit too much teeth.

“Buck?” Steve asks, lifting his eyes, his chin still on Bucky’s sternum. “You ok?”

Bucky remains unmoving, his eyes wide and going blank. Then suddenly he thrashes, nearly launching Steve off him. “Get off,” he says in a robotic voice, his volume escalating with each word. “Don’t touch me!” 

“What’s the matter? Was it too much?” Steve quickly lifts himself into a push-up position, pulling out and rolling onto his side. “I’m—I’m sorry.”

“No, no, get away!” Bucky pulls his knees to his chest, catching Steve hard in the gut.

Steve lets out an involuntary breath of pain, then scoots for the edge of the bed. “Ok, ok, I’m moving.”

Bucky shouts again, but his words gurgle as they come out, and suddenly there’s vomit pouring over sheets and blankets. 

“It’s ok, Bucky,” Steve tries to soothe, holding out his arms to hug him, to pat him on the back. But Bucky continues to curl in on himself. He scrabbles backward until there’s no more mattress behind him, then clumsily unfolds his legs and continues to back up across the floor.

“Aw, Buck,” Steve murmurs, panic mixing with concern as Bucky bows at the waist and throws up again, this time all over the carpet. “I know you’re really scared. And really sick.” He vaults the bed, but stands close to it as he holds out his arms again. Then thinks better of it and tucks them behind his back. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

“Just…” Bucky sputters. “Stay away from me!” 

“Ok,” Steve whispers, his voice nearly catching in his chest. “Ok. I will.” 

The mattress shifts an inch or so on the box spring as he leans against it. The movement catches him off guard, but he stops himself on his heels and keeps his attention on Bucky’s cowering form. “Buck…”

There’s a whole portion of Bucky’s life missing from what Steve knows of it. From what Steve’s gathered, it’s probably missing from what Bucky himself knows of it. But this… This is a different sort of reaction. This is trauma of the sort Steve can barely imagine. As he locks his own wide, scared eyes on Bucky’s again, he’s sure Bucky would’ve told him about something like this if he had a memory of it. It surely would have come up in a nightmare that would’ve been talked through on a bad night. This is something deeply suppressed. This is something that terrible can’t even begin to describe.

Bucky retches again, and it takes nearly all of Steve’s strength not to go to him. “You…you need help, Buck.”

Bucky doesn’t seem to hear him. It’s better, Steve supposes; Bucky not curling into a ball at the sound of his voice, but it’s still so bad. He’s not used to being unable to soothe him. 

“Ok.” Steve takes a deep breath and reaches slowly toward the bedside table. He uses one hand to disconnect his phone from the charger while he uses the other to scroll through his contacts. “I’m—I’m gonna call somebody, ok?”

Bucky makes a tiny noise, a sick groan, then squashes himself further into the corner.

“Alright…” Steve pulls up Sam’s number and nervously holds the phone to his ear. 

“Yeah?” Sam picks up right away. Steve hasn’t any idea what time it is, but he’s fairly certain it’s outside of the expected hours for normal social calls.

“Sam?” Steve asks breathlessly.

“Yeah?” Sam says again, a little more slowly. “What’s up?”

“It’s Bucky, he’s…” Steve shakes his head. He doesn’t know how to describe it, or even where to start. “We were—and then, well—But now he’s scared and really sick and he won’t let me touch him. He needs help, though.”

Steve tries again to reach out with his concerned gaze, but Bucky’s blank eyes don’t latch onto the contact. He crosses his arms in front of his shaking body and slides slowly toward the floor.

“You need another set of hands?” Sam asks, obviously worried. “Or, you know. PJ wings?”

“Yes.” Steve sighs in relief, glad his friend has understood. “He’s sick; he keeps throwing up. Something traumatized him. Something—“ Steve can’t bring himself to say ‘something I did.’ 

“War flashback?” Sam asks. Steve hears him rustling around his apartment, then starting his car. 

“No, worse,” Steve tells him. The flashbacks and the nightmares we can deal with. “This… this is different. It’s bad, Sam. Really bad.”

“Well, stay with him. I’ll be there in, like, ten minutes.”

“Ok,” Steve breathes. “I can do that.”

“You said he doesn’t want you to touch him?” Sam clarifies.

“Yeah.” Steve feels a pang of guilt hit him in the gut.

“Then don’t. Just let him be, but stay near him, ok?” 

Steve grits his teeth, for he hates this compromise, even though he knows it’s for the best.

“Steve. Ok?” Sam asks more insistently.

“Ok,” Steve answers softly. “Ok.” 

He drops the phone onto the pile of blankets behind him and sighs, then gives Bucky a meaningful look. “You hear that, Buck? Sam’s coming. To help you.” Bucky stays silent. Stays cowering.

Steve can’t stand to look at him, so he averts his eyes. “He won’t take long to get here. It’ll be ok.”

True to Steve’s word, barely a quarter of an hour passes before a key scrapes in the lock of the front door downstairs. Bucky tenses, if possible, more than he already is. 

“’S ok,” Steve reminds him, squeezing up a handful of bedclothes behind his back. “He’s going to help.”

There are footsteps on the stairs, then a gentle knock on the bedroom door. “Hey,” Sam’s voice whispers. “I’m coming in.”

The hinges creak slightly as Sam opens the door. He looks at Bucky first, then at Steve.

Steve’s been so caught up in watching Bucky, trying and miserably failing to make sure he’s alright, that he hasn’t put a single thought to himself. He’s still wearing the t-shirt he never got to taking off, so it isn’t until Sam’s eyes make an embarrassed flicker down to his crotch that Steve realizes he’s indecent. He quickly drops a hand to yank off the sticky condom and cover himself. Sam ignores him, whether pointedly or not, Steve doesn’t look again to find out. 

“Bucky?” Sam whispers, taking a slow step toward the corner where Bucky now sits, knees drawn to his chest. “It’s Sam, ok?”

“S-sam?” Bucky repeats slowly.

“Yeah.” Sam offers a soft smile. “And Steve’s here, too.”

“No,” Bucky shakes his head.

“Yes,” Sam corrects him gently. “See? He’s right here.” He holds his arm out in Steve’s direction. 

Bucky blinks. There’s a long silent moment, then a quiet “oh.”

“You’re safe, alright?” Sam takes a step toward Bucky, hands outstretched, and takes the flinching man’s wrist and elbow. “I’m not going to hurt you. No one’s going to hurt you.” 

“I-I’m—“ Bucky’s Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he grapples with his words. “I’m sorry. I’m s-so—“ he swallows. “I’m sorry—“

“I’ll take him,” Sam says quietly, moving his arms to perhaps an inch above Bucky’s shoulders and beckoning him to follow. Then he looks at Steve. “Why don’t you go downstairs? Clean up? Maybe, I don’t know, brew some coffee? I don’t think any of us are sleeping tonight.”

Steve practically runs from the room as Bucky holds his fist to his mouth to stifle another gag. It’s not the sight of him being sick that’s offensive, but rather the fact that Steve still can’t help him. 

The air downstairs is colder and clearer than that in the bedroom, and that’s somehow worse, as if Steve doesn’t deserve to breathe in air uncontaminated with the fumes of Bucky’s sweat and sick and panic.

He quickly locks the door of the downstairs bathroom, even though he’s almost guaranteed not to be bothered, turns on the hot water, and gets to work scrubbing himself with the crusty, half-used bar of soap. He feels filthy, even with bubbles of white foam cascading down his back and legs.

Once Steve’s back upstairs, a towel tucked tightly around his waist, he almost turns around and heads back down. There’s no more retching, but Sam’s still wheedling Bucky into the shower.

“Don’t look at me; I’m all… shrunk up…” 

Steve cringes at the pained mortification in Bucky’s voice. Sam’s no stranger, but Bucky’s been out of the hospital for years now, and no one but Steve’s seen him naked since.

“Do you think I care about that right now?” Sam’s gentle voice replies. “Do you think I care about that ever?”

If there are more words to the exchange, they’re lost to the sound of shower spray, and for that, Steve’s grateful. 

He dresses quickly, then gets out a clean set of pajamas for Bucky, and on a second thought, pulls a conglomeration of spare pieces of clothing out of their drawers he hopes will fit Sam, just in case he needs them.

Steve goes to the armchair in the corner of the room, but he can’t sit still, so he busies himself with the changing of the sheets. His heart drops back to his stomach when he sees the wet spot on Bucky’s side, too big and too saturated to be anything but piss. He sighs, but strips the linens quickly, pretending he didn’t see it.

Once the sound of the shower water eases and fades out, Steve gathers up the clothing and takes a breath, then brings himself to knock on the door. 

“I have, um, stuff,” he says. “Clothes and things.”

“Thanks,” Sam replies, his voice echoing slightly. He opens the door barely more than a crack and takes the neatly folded pile Steve offers. “We’ll be done soon,” he promises. “Then I think we’ll be ready to talk.”

Steve’s heart goes aflutter. Ready to talk. He’s been ready to talk since Bucky first went still and scared, yet now, with all that’s gone down since, nervousness has set in, and now he’s the opposite of ready. They’re operating on Bucky’s timeline, though, and if he’s prepared to share his thoughts and feelings, Steve’s certainly not going to stand in the way. 

“I’m gonna go down and make that coffee,” Steve murmurs, standing close to the bathroom door. “You wanna come down when you’re ready?”

“Yeah,” Sam says. “Sure thing.” Then more quietly, “Hold still; I gotta fix that hair.”

Steve can’t help but give a wan smile at that. He moves silently back down the stairs and into the kitchen, where he fills the coffee pot’s reservoir with water and puts on a brew of his favorite French vanilla. By the time the sweet-bitter fumes fill the air, two sets of footsteps are making their way downstairs.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve whispers when he sees his love, still pale and a bit scared looking, but no longer blank eyed and staring.

Bucky dips his head in response, and Steve grins at the recognition. “Alright,” Sam says, beckoning at the waiting coffee mugs beside the steaming pot. “Bring on the good stuff.”

Steve pours three shallow mugs, then carefully carries them to the living room. Sam leads Bucky and sits him at one end of the couch. Steve sits cautiously at the other end and offers him a cup. Bucky takes it and wraps both hands tightly around it as if soaking as much warmth out of the ceramic as possible. Sam sits in the ratty La-Z-Boy on the other side of the room and looks between both parties. He seems to be debating whether or not to put on his therapist hat.

“So,” he starts. “What exactly happened?”

“I, um, accidentally—“ Steve says, just as Bucky goes pale and brings his shaking hand to his mouth. 

“I-I—“ he stutters, shakily setting his coffee on the side table. 

“Hold on just a second, Buck,” Steve murmurs gently. He dashes back to the downstairs bathroom and brings the trashcan to where Bucky’s seated on the sofa. “Here.” It takes all his strength not to drag his fingers sweetly across Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky clamps the bin between his knees as he retches dryly. There’s nothing left inside him, and it pains Steve to watch his back arch as his body tries desperately to evacuate a modicum of air and saliva. 

Once he’s finished, Bucky places the trashcan on the floor and clasps his hands in his lap. “Sorry,” he mutters hoarsely.

“It’s no problem,” Sam assures him. 

“Yeah, Buck, it’s fine,” Steve affirms.

“I’m—I just—“ Bucky digs his nails into his palm and squeezes his eyes shut, as if steeling himself up to speak terrible words swimming in his brain and throat. “I don’t remember it, but there’s something…something that happened. A long time ago. When I was, well, before I was, you know. Home.”

“Ok.” Steve nods. He eyes Bucky’s hand and the pink half-moons that are growing redder by the second.

“I don’t know…” Bucky shakes his head, gulps, and winces. “I think I was… I think somebody… And with their teeth…” He lightly fingers the top of his chest, his voice breaking on the last word. 

Steve’s heart sinks right down to his gut. He notices the droplets of blood pooling on Bucky’s palm, and he wonders if he might be sick next. “Buck…” Steve sighs. 

Sam seems to have noticed too. “You can’t hurt yourself, ok?” He sets down his mug as well and reaches across for Bucky’s hand. Bucky pulls away, though, curling his fist back up and deepening the cuts.

“Hey, no,” Steve says. He slides closer to Bucky without thinking and closes his fingers around his forearm. He folds Bucky’s fingers between his and flattens their palms together, not caring about the transfer of bodily fluids. “You’re ok. You don’t need to hurt.”

“Yes I do,” Bucky whispers. He starts to pull away, but then stops and lowers his chin to his chest. “I’m…bad. I’m…messed up.”

“You’re not,” Steve tells him. “You’re perfect.”

“No, I’m—“

“Buck. To me, you’re perfect.” He adds a second hand on top, sandwiching Bucky’s between his own so he can’t escape his grip. Bucky pulls once, then relaxes, his arm pressing against Steve’s.

“I’m not,” Bucky says. “I can’t…do it. You know?” He looks up sideways at Steve, his cheeks going pink, then paling again. “I thought I could, but I don’t know if I can have you in me without… without the bad coming back.”

“It’s ok, Buck,” Steve says automatically. With Bucky’s health and happiness on the line, sex is about the last thing on his mind. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes it does,” Bucky insists. “We went so long, and then it was going to be so special…” Tears play at the corners of his eyes. 

Steve uses his thumb to gently wipe them away. “I’m ok without it. I love you no matter what. I’d rather that you be ok.”

Bucky sighs. “That’s… I don’t know.”

“If I could,” Sam says, lifting a hand to join the conversation. “It’s not something you have to agree upon right now.” He looks between his friends with a soft, yet wise expression. “I hate to sound like a broken record, but therapy is a wonderful thing. It can help with stuff like this.”

“Really?” Steve’s caught off guard. “Like, intimacy?”

“Talking through it,” Sam explains. “Yes, it can help. It can help you move forward slowly. At your own pace.” He turns slightly in his seat to smile at Bucky.

“Hm.” Bucky slowly nods. “I think… I think I’d like that.”

“Really?” Steve asks. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to be back with you.” Bucky lets his knee brush against Steve’s. “I just…right now…” 

“I know. And it’s ok.”

“You sure?” Bucky asks. “I’ll start to fix it soon.”

“We’ll take our time,” Steve assures him. “We won’t go too fast. And we won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“You’re… You’re giving me a lot, you know,” Bucky says, his eyes full of gratitude.

“Well, I love you, you know.” Steve tentatively inches closer, his shoulder against Bucky’s, and presses a chaste kiss to Bucky’s cheek.

“Thank you,” Bucky whispers. “I love you too.”


End file.
